Page 54 of Beautiful Enemy

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Tonight, I dress for the occasion. A cropped white top. A skirt that shows off my legs. The platform wedges Harrison got me. I try my hair a few different ways before twisting it up into buns on my head.

I look like a warrior, and maybe I am one.

It’s weird how it doesn’t feel as if Harrison and I are on opposite sides since he went on the trip to clean up his clubs in person.

Tonight, we both want the same thing.

La Mer.

“Come on, Rae,” Ash hollers from the other side of my door.

“Bossy, considering I invited you,” I call back.

Harrison had frowned over his coffee when I informed him I’d called his brother, but he’ll get over it.

If I’m being honest, it feels safer to have Ash there.

The door opens without my permission, and Ash surveys me.

“Jesus,” the younger King says before I can protest.

I plant a hand on my hip. “Good Jesus or bad Jesus?”

“There’s one Jesus,” Ash says solemnly. “And he’s always good.”

I laugh as I follow him downstairs. “Wait. Where’s your brother?”

“He said he’d meet us there. He’s doing business. And it’s a good thing because if he walked in on you looking like this, I’d be going to La Mer alone.”

I glance down at my outfit. It’s more skin than I’d normally show but nothing compared to some of the outfits that grace Ibiza’s clubs every night, including Debajo.

“It’s just me, Ash.”

“You don’t understand. When Harry sees something he wants, it’s game over. He’s trying to stay away, but the fact that he can’t have you is killing him. It makes for solid entertainment.”

I turn that over. As thrilling as it feels to be the object of Harrison’s interest, we can’t pursue it. Giving in to him feels like giving in to something bigger. A man like that casts a long shadow, and it’s only beginning to feel as if I’m getting myself back after the hellish year I’ve had.

I won’t risk losing myself in him.

Even for a night I’ve found myself fantasizing about more than once.

Even if our moments of connection feel so fucking real.

“Do you think he’ll ever trust someone again?” I hear myself ask. “After Eva, I mean.”

“I hope so.”

Toro drives us to the club, checking on us from the front with eyes crinkling at the corners. When we pull up, the door opens from the outside, and a hand extends to take mine.

I shift out of the car and look up.

My heart stops.

Harrison King is breathtaking in chino shorts and a midnight-blue linen shirt, and I press my lips together as he surveys me.

“You dressed down,” I say.

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